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and metal lay heavy on their tongues. Their scales shivered
under the echoing report and the smell of gunpowder
choked them, even in the tunnel. Hot fire burned near
Rakesh's tail as the last length vanished into the escape
passage.
 Damn and blast! I nearly had the old snake. Jefford-
Saunders swore, lowering his Browning. The room did not
look like a monster's den, but rather an opulent bedroom.
The bed was rumpled and the room had no female touches.
Two pairs of trousers, differently sized, lay near the bed,
but no petticoats were in evidence. A table, laid for two,
held plates and knives and wine-cups along with fruit.
But this was India and things were different here. He'd
seen enough to know that.
Jefford-Saunders took a single golden wine cup as
proof, but swore his men to secrecy.  Burn it, he ordered.
 All of it. He knew no one would believe a tale of snakes
who changed into men and back again. The soldiers set
their fires and went to help the villagers clean up the dead.
The tunnel grew uncomfortably hot as the fire raged
behind them. The warm earth was moist and close about
them, but not unpleasant. Arqam slipped along at a steady
pace, sensing more than knowing that Rakesh followed.
The darkness finally lightened and he saw the exit. Arqam
slithered out into the damp greenery of the forest.
Rakesh emerged after a moment and hissed anger,
shifting rapidly back to himself. His human arms caught the
gray mongoose and held it by the scruff of its neck.
Arqam took human shape again and glowered.
 Shahib, he snarled.
The little mongoose laughed.  I nearly had you, pretty
cousin. I could have bitten and then gobbled you up from
your tail. The ghul's laugh was chilling.  You would have
been delicious. Sweet and tasty cousin, just like the blood
of the village children.
 Even I only took one a year, Rakesh snapped. He
twisted the mongoose's neck and the beast puffed away into
smoke. He flexed his fists in frustration.
 Allah permit he reform where they know how to kill
his kind, Arqam breathed.
 Brahma likewise, Rakesh added.  Why does he call
you cousin?
At that, Arqam laughed.  I am the curious one and yet
you are the one who stands naked in the jungle asking silly
questions.
Rakesh looked indignant for a moment then laughed as
well.  I am. Clothing and food and shelter. I cannot return
to my temple now. They watched the smoke rise above the
trees and heard the loud crash as the stone blocks
overheated and tumbled in on one another.  Useful as it is,
the cobra is not a shape I like. Deaf and cold, it forces my
mind into a snake's thoughts in the snake's head. He coiled
his great tail and sat the human torso atop it.  I travel faster
than a man so. But where shall we go?
Arqam thought only a moment.  Home. You will come
home with me to Arabia. I know of a palace forgotten by
the men of clay that will be perfect for us.
Rakesh kissed him, softly, lingering in the dusk.
 Anywhere with you, my little fire. But can you keep up?
Arqam giggled and changed into his ordinary form, a
manikin of dancing flame that gave no smoke or heat.
 This is what a djinn is, my lover. I shall ride on your
shoulder, direct your paths and tell you of Arabia and my
cousin and all the tales you wish to hear.
***
They traveled north and west, always west, toward
distant Arabia. Arqam found that even with Rakesh's great
speed, the travel was still painfully slow to one who was
accustomed to riding the wind. As they stopped each dawn,
Rakesh hunted birds and their eggs and the roebucks.
Arqam continued to eat the fruit and nuts of the forest. The
gusto with which Rakesh devoured the still-bleeding meat
left him queasy sometimes. He did not mind a bit of goat,
done to a spicy turn, or a lamb in a rich stew, but Rakesh,
as the serpent he was, did not cook.
The naga traveled hard, all through the spring nights.
Arqam asked the reason for his speed and he said he did not
wish to drown during the rapidly approaching monsoon
season. It would rain steadily and very hard for two
months, Rakesh said. Arqam did not believe it. He had
never seen more than a few hours of rain.
But the speed and the hunting left Rakesh too
exhausted to do more than coil up and sleep by day. Arqam
was disappointed at this. He wanted to use the lessons of
Rakesh before he forgot them. One morning, he curled up
inside of Rakesh's coils, just wanting to feel the pebbly
snake-skin around him.
He awoke that evening to Rakesh tickling his ear with
a forked tongue. Arqam kissed his lover.  I missed our
closeness, what we had in the days at the old temple, he
explained.
Rakesh stroked his slim human form.  Beloved fire.
We shall have more of it and even better things upon our
arrival in your land. Rakesh coiled the sinuous body
around Arqam's legs and embraced him. One hand slid into
Arqam's silken trousers.
Rakesh worked his long fingers along the length of
Arqam's cock, teasing him.  We shall lie together on
marble terraces--you in my coils--and taste of the lingam
and the thigh and the cleft. We shall couple on a great
silken bed again, as men. We shall coil together in the cool
shade of the garden fountain as serpents. It shall become
home.
Arqam sighed at the picture his lover painted and
rested his head on Rakesh's shoulder, his knees going
watery and soft as the rest of him quivered with arousal. He
kissed Rakesh's neck and spent himself softly into the
naga's hand.
On the outskirts of Delhi, Arqam wished to visit the
Sadar Bazaar of which he had heard many great rumors.
Sadar was famous through the whole world for its iron
cookware and its shoes.
Rakesh, tired of traveling, readily agreed. He took a
completely human shape, dressed again in the black and
gold robes.  So, little fire, do you wish to accompany me as
a beautiful youth or simply be the flame that dances in the
opal of my turban?
Arqam took on the shape that had first tempted the
naga to keep him rather than eat him. He kissed the tall
man and whispered,  Let us hire a room. I crave your body
and a bed.
Rakesh stroked his hair.  I can travel more slowly now
that we are drawing closer to the mountains. We shall have
rooms and beds as often as you like.
Arqam smiled and kept his arm around Rakesh's waist
as they toured the bazaar.
They moved through the crowds of the Sardar market,
threading their way through the Brahman women in their
saris and caste marks, the pale memshaibs corseted in their
summer whites and sheltered by umbrellas held by small
brown children. They kept out of the way of the uniformed
British soldiers and the scabrous untouchables who
crowded the place, begging alms.
Both gawked freely, but tempted as Arqam was to look
at everything, he held tightly to Rakesh's waist. He still
nearly bounced between the booths and sun shades,
blankets and stalls, peering at every new item, every new
face. Rakesh watched him, smiling. Then his smiled
broadened as Arqam tried saying something in the language
of men.
The vendors found Arqam's enthusiasm infectious. He
asked, haltingly but happily, and they bubbled over with
details of their wares: of how the smith had lovingly spun
out each cookpot; of the grand adventures that
accompanied each gem; of the great plantations where the
mangoes and guava grew in the sun. As the vendors talked,
they shot glances at Rakesh, who only listened and smiled.
They seemed to sense he was the one who held the purse.
The day grew warmer and the white men and their frail
ladies mostly vanished from the bazaar. The seller, whose
red hair and fair skin bespoke a milder climate than Delhi,
opened his cunning little thick-walled cart and grated the
ice into a cup made of a mango half. He poured sweet
mango juice over it. Arqam watched the first procedure
with interest and then counted the vendor's freckles during
the second. He paid and handed one to Rakesh, then
nibbled his own, relishing its coldness. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]